<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Make Me Want To Live, by Anonymous by ladygekko</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243189">Make Me Want To Live, by Anonymous</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygekko/pseuds/ladygekko'>ladygekko</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Book: Swords and Shields - Varric Tethras, Fluff, Meta, Mysteries, Self-Indulgent, Writing, anonymous authors, blue ribbons, but we all know, dramatic readings, romance novels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:27:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,036</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygekko/pseuds/ladygekko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has left an absolutely brilliant manuscript for Varric to find. They didn't leave their name, but it's just too good not to forward to his publisher. Months later, when the whole of Orlais and Skyhold are raving over the story, the pressure is on for him to locate the mystery author - or the publisher will send their regards. He has to hope the Seeker will be willing to help him track down his wayward literary genius... he just wonders how much this is going to cost him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras, Minor Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus - Relationship, minor Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi/Lace Harding - Relationship, minor Sera/Dagna - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Bold is text from the anonymous manuscript</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>Lira dumped the artifact unceremoniously on the floor as Colby slammed the door to the cheap room. They’d gotten the magical weapon away from the corrupted merchants of the Guild, from the twisted cultists from the Deep Roads and from the mad Viscount, all in the space of three days and two nights.<br/>
<br/>
He set his bow down next to the small bed, leaning on the massive hammer she’d put down already. Her helmet had gone missing in the last fight, his arm was hastily bandaged from a near-hit from a cultist’s dagger, and both of them were covered in ash, blood and sweat.<br/>
<br/>
He crashed to his knees, holding her face in his hands, wiping away the dirt from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Lira…”<br/>
<br/>
“I know…”<br/>
<br/>
“We need to…”<br/>
<br/>
“Not tonight.” She slammed her mouth onto his, her strong arms pulling around his shoulders, working at removing the quiver tied to his back, the straps of his vest, anything she could get a hold of. She wasn’t delicate, and he heard at least a few of the seams on his shirt rip open.<br/>
<br/>
“Two can… play that game…” he whispered between kisses, moving down her face, following the tattoos down her chin to her throat.<br/>
<br/>
Within seconds her plate shoulders and chest fell to the floor with a crash, every tie having suddenly come undone.<br/>
<br/>
Trying to suppress a sigh, Lira slammed their chests together; separated only by their undershirts, she swore her heart skipped a beat. They were still dressed, by all accounts, but just this went straight to her head - and straight to another part of his anatomy if she interpreted properly. “I find myself curious to see what else your talented rogue fingers could do this evening, darling…”<br/>
<br/>
“Well let me see if I can please and surprise you, my lady.” he whispered into her skin, his hands gently sliding her padded undershirt over her head, mindful of the bruises.</b><br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
He had already missed breakfast and lunch. He was supposed to be writing letters for Ruffles, something vitally important about the import of copper or something, he hadn’t really been paying attention. The content of the letters barely mattered anymore, just that he had been the one to write and sign them.<br/>
<br/>
He had opened the door to his room that morning, and found a stack of hand-written unbound pages, tied together like a present with a bright robin-egg blue ribbon. There was no note attached to the package.<br/>
<br/>
He had picked it up, sighing, reading the words cut off by the ribbon while he wondered where it could have come from. People sometimes gave him manuscripts to “pass along to his publisher” but most of the time, those came attached to some very desperate people, trying to cater to his pride to have their sub-par writing published.<br/>
<br/>
There was no note, no name, no stroking of his (massive) ego. Varric had hummed, intrigued by the novel direction. He had let himself tug the ribbon, undoing the bow carefully so as to not shuffle the pages.<br/>
<br/>
That had been four hours ago. He was still in his room, getting to the last few pages, and he’d already had to adjust his pants more times than he’d like to admit. The room was too hot. He was too hot.<br/>
<br/>
This book was unlike anything he’d ever written, unlike anything he had ever read. It was smut; unabashed, unrepentant and absolutely without shame. It was hotter than anything he could have conceived, but more than that, the characters felt so real, so sympathetic… Fuck, he didn’t think he’d even managed such an amazingly realistic character portrayal in Tales of the Champion, and that was about real people and real events, mostly.<br/>
<br/>
He finished the last page, flipping the paper over, hoping to find a signature, a dedication, anything. Blank.<br/>
<br/>
“Andraste’s soggy knickers…” he mumbled to himself, trying to breathe calmly, the seed of an absolutely terrible idea starting to germinate in his mind. It had obviously been left on his stoop for him to find, and people were right, he did have privileged access to a brilliant editor. If he were to send it along, he was sure they’d snap it right up.<br/>
<br/>
He wouldn’t take credit. Not after Hard in Hardtown 3: The Re-Punchening, he couldn’t do that to anyone. Still, 15% of royalties for his services… He was a liar, and a cheat, but no one had ever called him a thief - not today, anyway.<br/>
<br/>
He didn’t recognise the handwriting. It was precise, straight and experienced, but there were a lot of ink drops, especially before particularly deliciously chosen words, where the author seemed to have hesitated.<br/>
<br/>
He’d have to transcribe it. For some reason, he was hesitant to let the only copy of the manuscript go. He’d transcribe it, send it on, and if it got published, he was sure the author would reveal themselves. He’d keep their cut safe in the meantime.<br/>
<br/>
He dug around for fresh pages, thinking of the story he was about to copy out. He adjusted his pants again, flipped all the pages carefully back and started writing.<br/>
<br/>
Three days later, he sent out a fresh copy with a courier he trusted who was headed to Kirkwall.<br/>
<br/>
He tied up the original bundle of pages with the blue ribbon, keeping the stack as tidy as possible. Nothing to do now but wait.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
The Western Approach was too hot during the day, too cold at night, and every single bottle of ink he had brought had sand in it. Varric hated it. To be fair, everyone hated it, from the Inquisitor down to the scouts in charge of brushing down the horses.<br/>
<br/>
Varric’s ink isn’t the only casualty; Cassandra has been complaining of sand in the joints of her armour, and Dorian has been complaining that the sand is getting into his outfit, through some magical means unrelated to the holes in it. The Inquisitor even tried to insist there was sand lodged in the mark, but they were probably just joking.<br/>
<br/>
“Letters, Serah.” a scout said, handing him a fat stack of correspondence. There had to be at least two dozen. He rubbed at his face, just smearing the sweat and sand around. They were planning a trip to the oasis in the canyon in a few days, but until then there wouldn’t be much reprise from the filth.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh, thank you my good sir!” Dorian cooed behind him. Varric turned to see Dorian accepting a large paper-wrapped package. He tore it open, revealing multiple books, some hardcover tomes and some pulpy serial softcovers. “I’m going to have to get that girl a bottle of something nice!” the mage said, looking through the books like a kid on Satinalia, a huge grin on his face.<br/>
<br/>
“What have you got there, Sparkler?”<br/>
<br/>
“Books, my excellent diminutive friend. I’ve paid a clerk in Val Royeaux to send me a selection of books every few months, especially when we’re stuck in blighted or otherwise unsavory locations without the decency to have proper book shops.” Dorian flipped a few pages. “She is delightfully good at curating a selection of new magical tomes, general interest titles and the smuttiest romances she can find.” He paused for a dramatic pause, grinning. “Yes Cassandra, I will share with you.”<br/>
<br/>
Varric now noticed that Cassandra had stopped cleaning the metal gauntlet, and was staring at the pile of books on Dorian’s lap. Her face lit up with a smile, which was quickly transformed into a sneer as she noticed the men watching her.<br/>
<br/>
She started buffing the gauntlet again, a bit faster than before. “I wouldn’t want to rush you; it is of no great importance.” she said.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh please, Cassandra, it’s just us. I know for a fact that you’ve read all the books you’ve brought out here at least three times each. No matter how dashing the Guard Captain is, you could use something new, no?”<br/>
<br/>
“I would… I would appreciate it, Dorian.” she finally said.<br/>
<br/>
“Are you cheating on me with another author, Seeker?” Varric asked, his hand to his chest in false indignation. “I thought you were my biggest fan?” He spoke a bit louder than usual, and a few of the scouts peeked their way.<br/>
<br/>
Cassandra huffed. “Perhaps if you wrote faster, I would not find myself looking for alternative authors.”<br/>
<br/>
“Ah, come now, you know you can’t rush genius!” Varric laughed.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, genius.” Dorian said, sarcastically. “That is what everyone says about <i>Sword and Shields</i>, of course.”<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
"<b>‘...you know nothing of sacrifice, of what I had to give up, of why I gave it up!’</b>"<br/>
<br/>
Everyone was around the fire pit. Varric looked around; all of the scouts, warriors and even the Inquisitor were listening with rapt attention as Lace and Dorian did a dramatic reading of the book he’d ‘discovered’, which was apparently now called <i>Make Me Want To Live</i>, apparently. He thought it was a bit cheesy, if he was honest, but the manuscript he’d sent away hadn’t had a name yet.<br/>
<br/>
“<b>‘Then tell me!’ shouted the human beside her, trying to push back on her heavily armored shoulders.’</b>” Dorian read his line and stage directions, then passed the book back to Lace, who was obviously enjoying herself despite the bright flush on her cheeks. She’d read this part before, she knew what was coming.<br/>
<br/>
“<b>‘I am dead, you blighted fool! I have already died, and they… they took me out of the Deep Roads, brought me to the surface and now my sacrifice is for naught!’ Lira’s hard eyes filled with unshed tears, tears she would never allow herself to cry. ‘What use am I? Where do I belong now?’</b>” Lace said, her voice quiet against the hush of all the listeners.<br/>
“<b>‘You matter to me.’ Colby said, reaching a hand to her heavily tattooed face.’</b>” Dorian reached over and put his hand gently on Lace’s cheek, making the young dwarf blush even more. “<b>‘You’ll always have a place by my side.’ he said, reaching down to capture her lips in his.’</b>” With an exaggerated flourish, Dorian laid a loud smacking kiss onto Harding’s cheek, making everyone around them laugh. “We shall continue this tomorrow evening!” he announced. “Be forewarned: it gets extra steamy!”<br/>
<br/>
A few jeers and claps later, the crowd began to thin. Varric finally realised who he’d not seen during the overly dramatic reading. Where was she? He finally found her sitting on a rocky outreach, about a hundred feet from the main camp.<br/>
<br/>
“There you are, Seeker!” he said loudly, making her flinch. “I would have expected you to be listening to the story with baited breath!”<br/>
<br/>
Cassandra grunted, which was normal, but she was desperately pale. It was a shade he’d never seen on her despite all the battles and wounds he’d seen her take. It made the scar on her face more pronounced, made her look more delicate. He mentally shook himself. There was nothing delicate about Cassandra Pentaghast.<br/>
<br/>
“A harrowing tale of two star-crossed lovers, separated by everything and still finding themselves thrown in the torrents of love and passion… and you’re missing it? Are you ill?” he said incredulously.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ve had a look. It’s not any good.” she said sharply.<br/>
<br/>
“Not any good? It’s a damn step above any trite I’ve ever written!”<br/>
<br/>
Cassandra gasped, her dark eyes looking straight into his. “No Varric, what you write is… it’s perfect. That trash will never compare to something like Swords and Shields.” She pushed off of the rock and walked away quickly.<br/>
<br/>
He could have sworn she was shaking.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
By the time they were heading back to Skyhold, they were on their third dramatic reading of the story, and the one copy Dorian had received was falling apart. It had already been split in two when their camp was attacked during a particularly steamy scene and the scout who had been holding the book ripped the binding in his shock.<br/>
<br/>
“<b>‘This plan will never work… It’s too risky!’ the warrior said, as she walked back and forth in the small room they’d rented in the inn.</b>” Lace read, then she passed the book to Varric. Their horses were about the same size and managed to keep up with each other.<br/>
<br/>
“<b>‘Of course it’ll work, it’s my plan.’ Colby said confidently. ‘If it was up to you, we’d just charge in there swinging that great big hammer of yours and kill everyone. We need finesse for this, we need disguises and trickery.’ The man smirked, sure of himself.</b>” Varric passed the book back to Lace.<br/>
<br/>
She cleared her throat a bit. “<b>‘But if it goes wrong, and I need to save you, how will I know which of the masked guests you are? How will I recognise you?’</b> Oh, this is my favourite part, well, one of them!” Lace squealed.<br/>
<br/>
With a wink to the scout, Varric took the book. “<b>Colby reached over to the masquerade mask he was going to wear to the event that evening. It would cover his whole face, just like all the other attendees. Multi-coloured ribbons had been attached to the left side to mimic hair. He tugged sharply on one of them, freeing a long robin-egg blue one. He smoothly pulled a dagger from his belt and dragged the ribbon across the blade, splitting it evenly in two. ‘Here.’ he said, tying one half to her wrist, knotting it tight. He offered up his own wrist and ribbon. ‘You’ll know me and I’ll know you.’</b>”<br/>
<br/>
Lace took the book back, but barely needed to look at the page to know the next line. “<b>Lira tied the ribbon to his wrist, concentrating on her work and her breathing, trying not to look up at this man who, a week ago, meant nothing to her. ‘How many heavily tattooed and armoured Legion dwarves are you expecting tonight?’ she asked, her usually confident voice slightly shaky.’</b><br/>
<br/>
Varric didn’t even take the book. “<b>‘Just you, my lady. Just you.’</b>” He grinned widely, stretching.<br/>
<br/>
A few of the scouts pretended to dramatically swoon, giggling. Varric was pleased that the book had brought such levity to the trip. The Inquisitor had decided to stop over a few nights in Val Royeaux to run some errands and have a chance at real baths. It was going to be great.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
He’s been too hopeful. That very evening they were attacked by a particularly well equipped band of miscreants.<br/>
<br/>
The bandits’ gear was good enough that one hit wouldn’t take them down. They had enough skill that they managed to bypass some of the warriors’ front line. They also had the advantage of numbers over the Inquisitor’s group.<br/>
<br/>
The battle dragged on. Varric spent more time avoiding getting run through than he liked, and less time shooting people in the neck than was ideal. Dorian was doing a brilliant job keeping barriers up, but there were so many bodies in the small space that it wasn’t obvious who needed what. It was almost easier when it was just the four of them. They each had to do more work, but there was less distractions.<br/>
<br/>
A mess of bandits was thrown back as the Seeker roared, pushing them all back with her shield, scattering them to the ground. Varric took aim at the first one to get back up, hitting him in the upper back. He went down, but three more were back onto the warrior, who was shouting Nevarran insults, one gloved hand holding the blade of a sword away from her face, the other tight around a bandit’s throat.<br/>
<br/>
The Seeker straightened both arms out, making way for the third to charge her. The bandit grinned as he aimed for her apparently open core. He wasn’t ready for the beast that was Cassandra Pentaghast. She headbutted him hard, Varric hearing the thud despite being a ways away. Varric took the shot, taking out the one she had by the throat. Scout Harding took care of the one with the sword with an arrow from her longbow.<br/>
<br/>
He fell but Cassandra didn’t drop the sword. She tossed it lightly in the air, grabbed it by the grip and stabbed down into the bandit she had headbutted in one easy swoop. Her movements were as smooth as any Rivain dancer’s, only with more blood.<br/>
<br/>
Everything eventually stilled. The Inquisitor was kneeling near Dorian, with only a few arrows left in their quiver. A few of the bandits were still alive, for now. Scouts with daggers hurried around the group, making sure that didn’t last. One or two of the scouts seemed to be badly injured.<br/>
<br/>
“Scout Harding!” the Inquisitor said, their voice out of breath. “Let me know who needs what. If we’re not too bad, we’ll keep on to Val Royeaux. If we need to, we can wait.”<br/>
<br/>
“Yes your worship. Give me a few minutes.”<br/>
<br/>
Varric jumped down from his rocky perch and went about collecting his bolts from the bandits’ bodies. Only two of them had missed their mark. As he went to grab the one sticking out of the bandit the Seeker had been holding back, he stopped with a startle.<br/>
<br/>
She was clutching her fist as tight as the gauntlet would allow, but it was still dripping an impressive amount of blood onto the grass below.<br/>
<br/>
“Shit, Seeker, you need…”<br/>
<br/>
“I cannot get the glove off myself.” She said calmly. Perhaps too calmly, Varric thought.<br/>
<br/>
“Let me.” He slung Bianca onto his back and gently pushed her back to a stump, getting her to sit down. Her face was shimmering with sweat, but not from the exertion of the battle. This was the cold sweat of pain and blood loss. After a few years, Varric could tell the difference.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll wait for Dorian to…”<br/>
<br/>
“No way, Seeker. Give me your hand.”<br/>
<br/>
As delicately as he could he pulled off the gauntlet. The leather inner glove had bitten into her palm with the sword blade and had to be pulled out of the skin. The metal pieces curved around her fingers; she had to move and curve her hand to follow them.<br/>
<br/>
He finally got it off and threw it on the ground. Her palm was split in a wide, ugly gash. He unwound the sash from his waist and wrapped her hand twice before holding her fist closed with both his hands. “Andraste’s tits! How did you manage to stab that guy with your hand in this shape?”<br/>
<br/>
“I do… what I must.” she grunted through the pain. “How did you even… see that?”<br/>
<br/>
She was bleeding all over him, her sharp cheek was already blooming into a bruise, and she still looked stronger than anyone he’d ever seen.<br/>
<br/>
“I always keep an eye on you in battle.” he scoffed. “I always need inspiration for the fight scenes in my books. That sword flip is definitely being included in the next thing I write.”<br/>
<br/>
She laughed softly, and  blinked a little too slowly for his liking. He felt her start to lean back, to pull away from his hands.<br/>
<br/>
“Sparkler! Get over here and fix the Seeker!”<br/>
<br/>
Dorian ran across the carnage, swearing in Tevene as he saw how much blood covered both of them. He chugged a lyrium potion with little elegance and put his hands over Varric’s, a teal-blue glow emanating from his palms.<br/>
<br/>
It was going to be fine. Everything was going to be great once they reached Val Royeaux.<br/>
<br/>
—<br/>
<br/>
He’d been too hopeful, once again. Apparently errands meant attending a multitude of salons for rich Inquisition patrons, and as their resident famous author, he was required to attend them all. Dorian had also been strong-armed into going, but somehow Cassandra had escaped the sitting rooms and gardens by virtue of being in an absolutely terrible mood. Worse than usual even, Varric thought.<br/>
<br/>
All in all, it was decided that they would avoid her destroying their patrons as easily as she had destroyed the varghests, Tevinter supremacists and random bandits.<br/>
<br/>
The sun had set a few hours ago when the party arrived back at the inn. Dorian and the Inquisitor went up to their rooms, but Varric wasn’t quite ready to retire. He set himself up in a corner of the inn’s pub, pulling out the notebook he kept on hand at all times.<br/>
<br/>
He was wondering what to write about when a woman with amazing presence walked into the inn, capturing everyone’s attention. Just the Seeker, thought Varric. She was carrying at least half a dozen paper shopping bags though, which caught his interest.<br/>
<br/>
“Seeker!” he called out to her, making her flinch. She sighed and walked over to his table, setting her bags down on the table. Some of them clunked.<br/>
<br/>
“What is it, Varric?”<br/>
<br/>
“How can you sound more tired than me, when you’ve been out shopping all day?” he asked, waving to the bar to bring over a pint for the Seeker. “I’ve been hobnobbing for over eight hours today and I have been made more stupid for it. Indulge me by letting me know what brilliant shopping I missed while I was fake-grinning till my cheeks hurt.” he pointed at her bags, with a small honest smile.<br/>
<br/>
Cassandra fidgeted a bit, grabbing the arriving tankard and having a drink. “Nothing fancy, dwarf, nothing that would interest you…”<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing fancy? So that isn’t a bag from <i>Les Savons Delphine DesMarais</i>?”<br/>
<br/>
“It was… I went on Josephine’s behalf.” Cassandra said quickly. “She adores their vanilla-crystal grace line.”<br/>
<br/>
“I bet you stocked up on their ginger-embrium for yourself too, didn’t you?” he winked at her like she was in on a joke, but she just blushed a deeper red.<br/>
<br/>
“How do you know what soaps I use, Varric?” she asked, her tone clipped but quiet.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s hard to miss such a fine scent…” he said quietly, as if realising what he’d said only as he’d said it. He took a long draught from his tankard. “What else did you get?” he asked with a bit more confidence.<br/>
<br/>
“Weapon oils and leather riding gloves.” she said quickly.<br/>
<br/>
“No books?”<br/>
<br/>
“Some… But nothing you’d enjoy. Goodnight Varric.” She grabbed her bags and escaped the bar, going up to her rooms in a great hurry.<br/>
<br/>
“Won’t waste the ale…” Varric said quietly,  smiling as he finished her drink.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
They didn’t have to pass the dilapidated book back and forth when they resumed their trek. Dorian, Lace, and multiple of the scouts had bought their own copies; the Inquisitor had bought three copies for Skyhold’s library.<br/>
<br/>
Varric looked around, noticing how many of their party had blue ribbons tied to their wrists. A few had threaded them into the manes of some of the mounts. Lace had three different ones stacked one on top of each other. “You seem to be quite popular this morning, Hightown.”<br/>
<br/>
The scout blushed, her hand moving to the ribbons, trying to hide them despite it being too late. “One is just for me, cause I like the story.”<br/>
<br/>
“And the others? You have two charming certain someones back at Skyhold?” he winked, and she blushed even harder.<br/>
<br/>
“One is for Krem - the other is for his mace.” She said, quiet but confident. “So he thinks of me and doesn’t lose the weapon in a fray.”<br/>
<br/>
“That… That may be one of the cutest things I have ever heard, Hightown. I need to write this down!” he said laughing, reaching into his poney’s pack for a notebook and a piece of coal. After a few shorthand filled notes, he tucked it back into the waterproof pockets he kept all his writing materials in.<br/>
<br/>
He looked around for the Seeker. She might cultivate her tough image, but he knew she would absolutely melt when she heard about Harding’s plans. She was nowhere to be seen. “Jensen, have you seen the Lady Seeker?” he asked a scout who was sitting a bit higher than him, driving a cart.<br/>
<br/>
“Lady Pentaghast left a few hours ago with the forward scouts to clear the pass up to Skyhold.” he said.<br/>
<br/>
“She’s scouting? She never scouts!”<br/>
<br/>
“She apparently had cause to return to Skyhold before the rest of the party.” the scout shrugged. Whatever was going on was clearly above his pay grade.<br/>
<br/>
It was probably above Varric’s as well.<br/>
<br/>
--</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Solas entered the rotunda, noting with tempered excitement that Dorian had dropped off the promised book. Although it was probably pure rubbish, his contact in Val Royeaux did sometimes find truly unique magical tomes. If the book was here, it meant the Inquisitor and their party were back as well. The library had been quiet without Dorian’s near-constant chattering - if Solas was honest with himself, perhaps almost too quiet. Perhaps.<br/>
<br/>
He pulled his chair out to sit and stopped short when he spotted Skyhold’s most proficient author tucked underneath his desk, aiming Bianca at his knees.<br/>
<br/>
He cleared his throat and pulled the chair a bit further back again, sitting down in a fluid, casual motion. “Master Tethras, I can imagine you having missed our clearly fascinating chats, but may I propose a different arrangement? Is Cassandra seeking to throw another chair at you? I thought you’d reached a sort of understanding...”<br/>
<br/>
“Shut it, Chuckles. There are literary assassins on my tail.” Varric whispered.<br/>
<br/>
There was a pregnant pause. “What?”<br/>
<br/>
“Well, I don’t know if assassins is the correct title. They are trained as assassins, of course, but they’re not here to kill me. They’re here to deliver the message that they could kill me. I think.”<br/>
<br/>
“Of course.” Solas said, picking up his new book with a slight reach. <i>Thermals and Thunder Clouds; High Dragons Folk Tales</i>. Not bad. “And what, pray, makes these assassins literary?” he asked, opening the book but not quite reading yet.<br/>
<br/>
“They’re from my editor. Or maybe from the publisher. Both of them are bastards. Kirkwall Coterie. The longer I delay their questions about the identity of the anonymous author, the longer I have to think of an answer that won’t result in my untimely demise.”<br/>
<br/>
Solas hummed loudly, looking out . “If I were to go into the great hall and say something true yet irritating to Madame De Fer, causing a minor kerfuffle, would that allow you enough time and distraction to get out from under my desk?”<br/>
<br/>
“How much?”<br/>
<br/>
Solas’ lips quirked into a smile. “Three of those notebooks, the ones with the lovely paper you import from Nevarra.”<br/>
<br/>
“Deal.”<br/>
<br/>
“Lovely. I do think it’s time for me to remind our Court Enchanter of the limitations of Circle knowledge! Perhaps our Spymistress could aid you in getting rid of your annoying messengers.” Solas stood up, tucked a few books under his arm and left the rotunda, making more noise than usual. Upon entering the main hall, he slammed the door in an uncharacteristically dramatic fashion.<br/>
<br/>
As Varric heard him call out to Vivienne, he bolted to the stairs that led to the library. Nightingale would have a lead. She had to. She knew everything.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
“... let me see if I have understood your predicament properly.” Leliana said, pressing her hands together, staring down at the dwarf in front of her.<br/>
<br/>
“You discovered an anonymous manuscript, rewrote it, sent it to your publisher; in the past three months it has become incredibly popular, making you no small amount of money as a finder’s fee; and now your editor wants you to find the author, under penalty of your potential death.” She squeezed her hands together, and released them slowly. “And you want my help with your mess?”<br/>
<br/>
Someone else might have shouted; someone else might have raised their voice. The Nightingale’s voice had barely spoken the last sentence, but it sent shivers down Varric’s spine. She was not amused.<br/>
<br/>
“Uh… yeah.”<br/>
<br/>
“Unfortunately for you, I am far too busy to run after a wayward author for you.” She walked over to her table, which was covered in paperwork and feathers. “However, I will endeavour to convince your publisher and their messengers that you are more valuable alive than dead, despite appearances.”<br/>
<br/>
Varric sighed, resigned. “Thanks for that.” He turned to go back to the stairwell.<br/>
<br/>
“You could ask Cassandra for help.”<br/>
<br/>
He stopped suddenly, his surprise betraying his typically assured footsteps. “What?”<br/>
<br/>
“You could ask Cassandra. She has just returned from a long trip and will be in the keep for a few weeks, as will you. She is a Seeker after all. Who better to ferret out the truth?”<br/>
<br/>
“And I bet she’d like to have me in her debt as well. Make me write another chapter of <i>Sword and Shields</i>… I don’t have much choice do I?”<br/>
<br/>
“I think not. I can only convince the coterie of your worth for so long.”<br/>
<br/>
“Right.” He gave Bianca a few distracted taps. “Right. Best get to it then. I’ll go look for the Seeker.” He walked away, down the stairs and out towards the stables, planning to take the longer way around to the dummies Cassandra typically beat to a pulp.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
“Be quiet Varric and let me think.” Cassandra said, her hands wrapped around her cup of tea. It had taken Varric a few days to track her down and agree to meet with him. They were sitting in an almost quiet corner of the tavern, up on the second floor.<br/>
<br/>
She had been hesitant to meet him at first, but was now sitting with the manuscript in front of her, wrapped in the blue ribbon that was now being copied all around the hold. Her face was an unknowable mask of antagony.<br/>
<br/>
Below them, the Chargers were being loud.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m just saying.” Rocky repeated for perhaps the third time. He was pretty far into his drinking already. In his defense, it was past noon. “When was the last time there was a popular story that featured a dwarven lead? I’ll tell you - fucking never.”<br/>
<br/>
Grim grunted.<br/>
<br/>
“Exactly! Especially one so well researched! No one on the surface knows that much about the Legion, it’s… it’s…”<br/>
<br/>
Grim grunted again.<br/>
<br/>
“Exactly!” Rocky continued.<br/>
<br/>
“And that shem was perfect for her.” Skinner said quietly. A few guffaws rang out, and a swift punch quieted them. “Krem and Dalish have been reading it around me. Shut up.”<br/>
<br/>
Upstairs, Cassandra stood, sending her chair screeching backwards. “I cannot work with all this noise.” She picked up the manuscript and nestled it under her arm. “Go and do your own research for today. I will review this and come see you tomorrow morning. Do you think you can be awake before they stop serving breakfast?” she said, her lip twitching.<br/>
<br/>
“Was that a jab at my impeccable timing?” Varric said with a wide smile, hopping off his chair. “You don’t complain about the timing of my bolts in battle, do you?”<br/>
<br/>
“I’m sure Bianca deserves most of the praise in that instance. Perhaps she’ll get you up before lunch tomorrow.” She started walking away. “Varric.” She nodded to him gently and left.<br/>
<br/>
“Do my own research. Right.” He drummed his fingers on the table a few times. “Research. Sparkler can’t resist a mystery. He’ll bite.” Varric finished his drink with a large gulp.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m just saying!!” Rocky shouted, once again. “Reprehen… Repron…”<br/>
<br/>
Grim grunted.<br/>
<br/>
“Right, representation matters!”<br/>
<br/>
Varric left the Herald’s Rest.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Dorian was not in the library yet. Varric was about to sit in the mage’s comfy chair to wait when voices drew his attention to the floor below.<br/>
<br/>
“Have you read this yet? It’s such a beautiful story…” the Inquisitor said wistfully, showing Solas the cover of the book that was causing Varric headaches. “There is a bow in here that I’d never heard about; it sounds amazing.”<br/>
<br/>
“Is there?” Solas asked. Varric was sure he was pretending not to know what the Inquisitor was talking about. He would bet good coin that Solas had already read it; he never liked to be the last person to know something.<br/>
<br/>
“Yes, listen to this: <b>Lira was backed into rock; a dead end! She growled at her attackers, holding her warhammer up, trying not to show them how much the left side of her body was trembling. Three warriors in front of her, backed by two mages - one readying barriers, the other with flames in her hands. She was good, but without cover, there wasn’t much she could do with these odds.<br/>
<br/>
“Surrender the artifact!” one of the warriors growled. “Do so and we will make your death a quick one.”<br/>
<br/>
Lira grinned, showing her teeth. “The Stone has already accepted me - do your gods promise the same? Do your worst!”<br/>
<br/>
Before she could brace for the impact of a sword or a fireball, a squelching noise came from the mage who had been preparing barriers, and a shout from one of the warriors. An arrow had been shot through her neck with enough force to exit her body and pierce the man in front of her. All of the remaining cultists’ heads spun around, to evaluate the new threat.<br/>
<br/>
“Terribly sorry to interrupt, my dear, but it does look like you could use a helping hand.” said the human rogue, his charming voice clear and loud in the caverns. He was attractive, more attractive than he should have been considering his dirty leathers and obvious broken nose. His light hair was tied back, keeping it out of the way of the string of the most impressive bow Lira had ever seen.<br/>
<br/>
It had wheels on either end of the bow limbs that seemed to lock as the string was drawn back; the wicked curve of the bow was holding tension easily even though the archer was holding the draw steadier than a rock.<br/>
<br/>
“What is that?” Lira asked, unable to help herself.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh this?” he said casually. He released another arrow, which buried itself into one of the warriors by way of the fire mage’s chest. “This is Florence. She likes to make new friends.”<br/>
<br/>
Sneering at the rogue’s brassiness, Lira swung her hammer down onto the back of the last warrior’s head. “I had this.”<br/>
<br/>
“Of course you did…”</b><br/>
<br/>
“Doesn’t that bow sound amazing? I’ve already gone to Harritt, but he doesn’t know where we could find a design for a bow like that.” The Inquisitor sounded incredibly disappointed.<br/>
<br/>
“Actually, I have seen such things before…” Solas said. “In the Fade.” he added quickly. “Bows of such designs were often used by the Elvhen and could pierce through two or three enemies at once.”<br/>
<br/>
“Really?! I thought it was all pretend for the book!”<br/>
<br/>
“Most unbelievable things were once achieved by those who came before us. I could see if I could draw what I have seen for Harritt while you look elsewhere for more concrete designs?” he offered.<br/>
<br/>
“That would be great Solas, thank you!”<br/>
<br/>
Varric tried to stifle a laugh as the Inquisitor quickly hugged the tall elf; Solas looked like he had swallowed a particularly sour potion, but relaxed a little when the Inquisitor let go and ran out of the rotunda towards the Commander’s office.<br/>
<br/>
“Who is chuckling now, child of the Stone?” Solas asked the empty room.<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, yeah. Get to drawing before you disappoint our glowy friend.”<br/>
<br/>
Dorian was still not here, so he sat in the chair, grabbed a book from one of the many piles, and waited.<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
Varric startled awake. It was dark outside, and Dorian hadn’t come to kick him out of his chair, so he hadn’t been in all day. Frustrated and having gotten nowhere with his problem, he set out back towards the tavern.<br/>
<br/>
“Sparkler, where have you been?!” he shouted, trying to sound friendly, surprising Dorian who was whispering something into The Iron Bull’s ear. They were sitting remarkably close, actually.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ve been around, Varric.” the Altus said casually, straightening up and inching ever so slightly away. A rumble came from The Iron Bull’s chest and a heavy hand landed on the mage’s hip, surprising him.<br/>
<br/>
“Around, eh?”<br/>
<br/>
“Not a word.” Dorian squinted his eyes, putting up a finger in warning. “You were apparently seeking me out for something?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh yeah, I need your help with a bit of research.”<br/>
<br/>
“You’re looking for your anonymous author?” Bull asked, staring him down. “You might have done that a few months ago.”<br/>
<br/>
“How do you… never mind, you can help too. I’ve got the Seeker to report to tomorrow morning, and I’ve got nothing.<br/>
<br/>
The Iron Bull and Dorian shared a look. The mage rubbed at his face, not smudging his kohl or messing up his moustache - a practiced move, obviously. “You’re not a stupid man, Varric…”<br/>
<br/>
“Thank you, I guess.”<br/>
<br/>
“If you were writing this story, who would your author be? How would you describe them?”<br/>
<br/>
Varric stilled, thinking. “They’d be a very private person, obviously. Shy or reserved, uninterested in fame and money. They’ve had plenty of chances to let me know it was them, even before the book took off.” Varric almost subconsciously pulled out a small notebook, flipped to a blank-ish page, and started writing notes.<br/>
<br/>
“They’d have to be a warrior, one who knows how to describe the flow of battle. They would have to have an admirable knowledge of different battle regimes - I sure as hell haven’t seen any actual Legion warriors around Skyhold.”<br/>
<br/>
“I would have noticed.” Bull grumbled. “What else?”<br/>
<br/>
Varric wrote a few lines, crossing some out. “They wrote about religious fanatics, noble intrigue and street thugs, all with the same attention to detail. Too much realistic detail for them to have just read about that kind of thing. So we’re looking for someone who has lived the pampered life of a religious noble, but who can lower themselves to come to a filthy tavern every once in a while.”<br/>
<br/>
“An adventurous chantry sister perhaps?” Dorian asked. He sneaked a snide look at The Iron Bull. “A pious sellsword?”<br/>
<br/>
“No, not a sellsword. Someone with more education than that, probably traditionally educated. Except… They have the knowledge, the vocabulary, but not the confidence. The original manuscript had drips of ink that indicated serious pauses, and more than a few crossed out words per page, like they were struggling to get the right word onto the paper.”<br/>
<br/>
“Of course, an adventurous chantry sister with difficulty expressing herself, then.”<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe, but chantry sisters aren’t usually the target audience for these kinds of books.” Varric said quietly. Bull coughed but the dwarf kept going with his musings. “They had the beats of the story down pat. The pacing, the characters… This is someone who has not only read a ton of romance books but is a true die hard fan.”<br/>
<br/>
Bull and Dorian both rolled their eyes, getting impatient. Dorian reached out and stilled Varric’s wrist as he wrote more notes. “They also obviously know you quite well.”<br/>
<br/>
“What?”<br/>
<br/>
“Colby? The archer? He’s practically a love letter to your roguish person! Apart from the height and the shape of the unfortunately named weapon, he’s a spitting image of you - well, he is quite a bit more smooth about matters of the heart, perhaps.”<br/>
“He… he’s meant to be me? Then who is Lira…”<br/>
<br/>
Dorian had had enough. “Varric! I know a dwarf’s asshole is closer to their head, generally, but could you please try to get your head out of there and see what is right in front of you?!” he half-shouted.<br/>
<br/>
Varric’s mouth moved silently, looking at his list of characteristics, trying to understand what the two idiots in front of him were trying to tell him. He had to figure something out before he saw the Seeker in the morning, to prove he’d actually done some work. Cassandra would have his hide if he didn’t… She would…<br/>
<br/>
“Oh.”<br/>
<br/>
“Thank the Maker we don’t have to spell it out for him!” Dorian said, grabbing Bull’s arm and tugging him away towards the stairs. Varric was staring at his notes, missing the downright lewd stare the Tal-Vashoth was giving the mage.<br/>
<br/>
“You’re kind of hot when you get all incensed, Vint…” he said as they disappeared upstairs.<br/>
<br/>
“Oh.” Varric repeated quietly to the empty table. “But how…”<br/>
<br/>
“I did it.” said a voice right next to his ear. Varric jumped, his pen streaking across his notes.<br/>
<br/>
“Hey Kid.” he said, trying to control his tone.<br/>
<br/>
“She wrote it for you. At first it was to prove that anyone could write smut. Then it became more. It took her so long. She wanted you to know it. She didn’t want everyone to know it. She’s not very happy.”<br/>
<br/>
Varric grabbed his head in his large hands, feeling a massive headache start to brew at the back of his skull.<br/>
<br/>
“Kid. Cole. What did we say about people’s secrets?”<br/>
<br/>
“I shouldn’t tell them.”<br/>
<br/>
“And…?”<br/>
<br/>
“I shouldn’t force them to be told.”<br/>
<br/>
“Did you ask the Seeker before taking the book?”<br/>
<br/>
“Oh no, she would never have agreed.” The spirit boy smiled slightly. “She didn’t want to tell you, but she wanted you to know, Varric.”<br/>
<br/>
“Andraste’s fuckin’ tits.”<br/>
<br/>
“Varric?”<br/>
<br/>
“Yeah Kid?”<br/>
<br/>
“What’s smut?”<br/>
<br/>
--<br/>
<br/>
This was getting expensive. He was good for the gold, but still. He owed Chuckles three notebooks; he now owed Sera an undetermined sized order from one of his alchemically inclined contacts back in the Free Marches; Dagna wanted him to test a few of the models of her new (hopefully) nonexplosive pens. Buying out the vendor’s stock had cost him another 40 sovereigns.<br/>
It was a good thing the Kid was willing to work for free.<br/>
<br/>
While the others worked, he kept an eye on the Seeker, which was easier said than done; not because she was hard to find. She was stomping around the keep, getting progressively more annoyed, looking for him.<br/>
<br/>
She slammed into the Commander’s tower, and Varric climbed up the stone wall, silently making his way to the hole in the ceiling. He had to gage how much trouble he was in.<br/>
<br/>
“I’m going to kill him.” the Seeker told Cullen.<br/>
<br/>
A lot of trouble then. Hopefully his efforts would mollify her. At least a little.<br/>
<br/>
“You can’t kill him for being late, Cassandra.” Cullen said, sounding tired but with a smile on his face. “Not everyone can be awake at dawn and ready to go in forty seconds like you.”<br/>
<br/>
“Thirty-five.”<br/>
<br/>
“On a good day, maybe.” Cullen chuckled, low and soft. “Sit with me a while, he’s probably just running late and got distracted. I have a few reports I could use your input on anyway.”<br/>
<br/>
With a massive indignant noise she dragged a chair to the desk.<br/>
<br/>
Perfect. Varric let himself drop off the roof of the tower, landing silently. He rushed towards the tavern and the corner where the Seeker murdered training dummies daily.<br/>
<br/>
The dummies were blue. Ribbon had been wrapped around and around until they were almost unrecognizable. On the right, every practice weapon had at least one ribbon tied around the handle.<br/>
<br/>
He grabbed a passing scout and asked her to deliver a quick message to the Seeker in the Commander’s office.<br/>
Hopefully Sera, Dagna and Cole had also finished inside. He climbed up the stairs inside the armory, letting his hand drag on the ribbon-wrapped banister. He wondered for half a second if this was too much… It was too much for anyone else but it might actually work for her.<br/>
<br/>
“Widdle! Widdle! What if I spell out something  really rude with the ribbon?” Sera mock-whispered to Dagna.<br/>
“No, just finish the pillow with a cute bow and I think we’ll be done. I just have to finish the last few books.” the dwarf replied, with a huge grin.<br/>
<br/>
“No rude words, Buttercup.” Varric hurried up the last few stairs. “She’s coming, you guys need to disappear.” He looked around the room. It was over the top, ridiculous and perfect. The books in her shelves had ribbons around them. There were ribbons making a curtain in the small window. Sera perched herself on the window-sill, grabbed Dagna under her arms and lept backwards with a hoot, causing the dwarf to emit a quickly cut off shriek.<br/>
<br/>
Shaking his head, Varric sat on a crate and waited, listening for stomping.<br/>
<br/>
It came much faster than he’d predicted, but slowed and stopped as it approached the training area. Cassandra had obviously paused next to her embellished dummies.<br/>
<br/>
This was too much. She’d hate it. She’d kill him. Varric was starting to consider throwing himself out of the window when he heard her footsteps in the stairs of the armory.<br/>
<br/>
She froze when she saw Varric sitting in her room, surrounded by her every possession wrapped in a blue ribbon. It took a few minutes for her to move, her face changing from shock to righteous anger to acceptance as she tried to release all the words and feelings that were warring inside her. She finally walked up the rest of the stairs, dropped the manuscript on her cot and sat down on the other half of the crate, next to Varric.<br/>
<br/>
“You have found me out.” she said quietly.<br/>
<br/>
“Took me long enough.” he answered in kind.<br/>
<br/>
They sat silently together, each one trying to figure out what to say next.<br/>
<br/>
“It’s just so damned good!” he finally said, trying to explain some of the myriad words that were whirring around in his head.<br/>
“I never meant for anyone to ever read it.” she whispered.<br/>
<br/>
“Not even me?”<br/>
<br/>
“I…” She blushed a bit darker, which he would have thought impossible. “I may have thought about showing you, to show you… that no matter how cold and harsh you thought I was…”<br/>
<br/>
“Stop. I may have thought that when I first met you, Seeker, but I’ve learned who you are. You’re not cold, you’re private. You’re not harsh, you’re passionate. You’re an amazing woman… and an amazing writer, apparently.”<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t understand how you found it.”<br/>
<br/>
“A friendly spirit dropped it on my doorstep.”<br/>
<br/>
“Maker take him.”<br/>
<br/>
“Now now, Cass, don’t take it out on the Kid. He didn’t know I would love it and send it along to my publisher. That’s all on me.”<br/>
<br/>
Cassandra stared at him, her eyes wide.<br/>
<br/>
“I know I shouldn’t have, but people do it all the time, try to use my connections to get their works published, and…” She was still staring. “What?”<br/>
<br/>
“You called me Cass. You never use my name.”<br/>
<br/>
Shit. “I’m sorry, I’ll not…”<br/>
<br/>
“No, I like it.”<br/>
<br/>
Oh. He felt her move a touch closer on the crate, their thighs now touching. She had shifted her gaze to the ground in front of her.<br/>
<br/>
“Will you tell your publisher about me?” she said, her normally authoritative voice as quiet as a mouse’s.<br/>
<br/>
“I don’t think you’d like me to.”<br/>
<br/>
“No.”<br/>
<br/>
He smirked. “If I did you might stab me in the book again, and it would be a crime to stab what you wrote.”<br/>
She scoffed but smiled, her shoulder bumping his. They were almost the same height when they sat next to each other like this.<br/>
<br/>
“Would you like to write another?” he asked.<br/>
<br/>
“Perhaps. It took me nearly two years to write the first. I’m not… I cannot...”<br/>
<br/>
“Do you want a co-author?”<br/>
<br/>
Her eyes were so wide he could see the white around her dark irises.<br/>
<br/>
“It would keep your name out of the public eye.” She didn’t say anything, so he looked away. He should be quiet, should give her time to think about it. But he couldn’t stop talking. “It would mean spending a bunch more time with me, which might be difficult to explain away. We could share a tent more often on away missions, that would give us some time… Shit, I don’t even know…”<br/>
<br/>
Her slim hand slipped into his wider one. Her grip was strong.<br/>
<br/>
“I would like that.” she whispered. He still wasn’t looking at her, but he felt her lips brush against his temple, a murmur of a kiss.<br/>
<br/>
His mouth hung open. “Alright.”<br/>
<br/>
“Alright.”<br/>
<br/>
“Alright...”<br/>
<br/>
“You are the one who is supposed to be good with words, Varric. If you feel you cannot…”<br/>
<br/>
He quieted her mouth with a proper kiss. Words could wait.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If there are any typos, please let me know!<br/><a href="https://imgur.com/a/8k4p5yd">Lira fan art by sister</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>